Mom
by rosabelle317
Summary: Five times Rusty called Sharon "Mom."
1. Thanksgiving

**Notes:** This is a _very_ late (and yet, very unfinished, because I am the worst human) birthday present for **SChimes** (who is the BEST human). But in the interests of not posting Thanksgiving stories in the middle of February, here is part one. On the whole, this one is going to be either self-indulgent fluff or self-indulgent angst with not much else in between, because who needs restraint? :D

 **Mom**

 **Part I: Thanksgiving**

Night felt different in the living room.

It brought Rusty back to the first week he had spent here, when what little sleep he'd found, he'd been lulled to by the steady hum of the refrigerator. Streetlights through the open curtains had been his night light. Sharon liked to leave those open; Rusty wasn't really sure why, but... it had been nice. Not that he'd been _afraid_ or anything, but he hadn't known his way around yet.

He could walk through the condo with his eyes closed now, and he had volunteered to sleep on the couch tonight. It was more comfortable than it looked, though not as nice as his bed, and the blankets were warm and heavy on top of him. He could've fallen asleep, but he was waiting.

Sharon was late. Not just a little late, either, but a lot late. Rusty didn't worry, not exactly. If something _had_ happened, Provenza or Buzz or someone would've called.

He wasn't sure what time it was when she finally came home. Late enough that he'd almost fallen asleep despite his determination not to. When the door opened, he heard it from far away, and even though he had been waiting _for_ Sharon, it was almost too complicated to command himself to move.

By the time he had it worked out, Sharon had reached him.

"I'm sorry I'm so late."

He hadn't expected her to stop right by his head. He jumped, and heard her laugh as he opened one eye. "How'd you know I was awake?"

"You think I can't tell when you're sleeping?" Sharon's laugh was warm as she crouched down next to him. "You really didn't have to give Ricky your bed, you know. He's a heavy sleeper."

Rusty opened his other eye then. "He doesn't really fit on the couch, either."

"No," Sharon admitted.

It was never really dark in the living room, not with the curtains open. Sharon's face was shadowed, but Rusty could see her well enough to know that she was smiling at him. "I have something for you."

"Me too," he whispered back. "It's in your room."

Her smile broadened. "We can wait until morning if you're tired."

He wasn't sure when he'd have a moment alone with her next. Rusty shook his head. "Now's good."

"Okay." Sharon's fingertips touched his cheek. "Give me a minute."

One minute became twenty, because Emily wasn't asleep after all. Rusty heard her voice, and then Sharon's, and he closed his eyes again, hugging the blankets back up to his chin as he listened. He couldn't make out the words, but he could guess what Sharon was saying, that she was sorry she'd gotten stuck at work, that she'd missed Emily, that she was glad Emily was here.

It had been just him and Sharon at his adoption last year, and the team. Ricky and Emily had _wanted_ to be there, but Sharon hadn't been sure when the adoption would actually be finalized. Emily hadn't been able to get away from her rehearsals on such short notice, and Ricky had come down Thanksgiving morning and apologized a hundred times. He hadn't been sure that he would be, but Rusty was glad that they were here now.

When Sharon came back, she had the small box he'd left on her nightstand in one hand and a small package tucked under her other arm. He forced himself to sit up then, and scooted over to make room for Sharon to sit beside him on the couch. She turned on the light before she sat down. The sudden brightness made him squint.

He thought he knew what his gift was as soon as she put it in his hands, and Rusty suddenly wished that he'd gotten her something less silly. Sharon had gotten him enough gifts by now that he knew she always chose good ones. He always had a harder time guessing what he should get _her_ , especially at a time like this when there was really nothing he could think of that would say everything that he wanted it to. What was he _supposed_ to get her on the first anniversary of his adoption?

"Can I open it now?"

"Of course."

She'd even put a little bow on the package. Of course she had. Green, to match the striped wrapping paper, but darker. He peeled it off carefully and handed it back to her. She'd want to reuse that for Christmas. He took his time with the paper too. She wouldn't reuse that, but... Rusty didn't know. He should take as much time unwrapping it as she had wrapping it, maybe.

He was right.

When he peeled off the last piece of tape, a small leather-bound journal fell into his hands. It was about the size of a paperback book, maybe a little wider, with a wraparound strap to keep it closed. Peeking out from the top was a white and black patterned bookmark that reminded him of a chess board.

There was a sudden knot in his throat.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sharon tilt her head. "Is something wrong?"

He shook his head.

"I noticed you were filling up the last one I got you."

That was how he'd known what it was. She'd said the same thing to him a couple of weeks ago. Those were nice journals too. She'd given him one for his birthday, and another when he'd started talking about journalism. That one had been filled halfway with his notes on Mariana Wallace. The stories he was working on now were smaller pieces, but he was steadily using up the pages.

His other one, the personal one, that one was almost full too. Rusty hadn't thought that it would matter so much, that the journal was nicer than the old notebooks he used to write in. It wasn't like there'd been anything _wrong_ with them, but... it made him feel like, even if Sharon never asked about what he wrote in them, what he thought was important to her.

"It's nice," he told her. His voice was still choked. "Really nice. Thanks, Sharon."

"You're welcome," she said, and smiled. She held up the box in her hands. "May I open this now?"

"Yeah."

Maybe being careful with the wrapping paper was something that he'd learned from her, because she took her time too, even though he hadn't done quite as nice a job as she had. She was already smiling; she was just happy that he'd cared enough to get her something.

Rusty looked away. The crinkle of Sharon's hands fiddling with the wrapping paper stopped, and he heard her inhale quietly.

He held his breath.

"Oh," Sharon said softly.

"I wasn't sure—you have one that looks kind of like that." Rusty stared down at his lap nervously. "But... you always want to decorate for Christmas right after Thanksgiving, so I thought..."

"It's beautiful."

That wasn't the word Rusty would've used for it, really.

Sharon's angel thing was... weird. The angels themselves were kind of creepy, especially the ones without faces. She had a lot of them but not _all_ of them, so he'd gone to the website that sold the kind that seemed to be her favorite and looked around. He'd almost gotten her the one of the angel holding a teapot, but then he'd seen the other one.

Rusty was pretty sure people got the wrong idea about him and Sharon. His other mom definitely did, but Rusty thought she did that on purpose, to make herself feel better about things. Jack did. Even Ricky had, for awhile, but he seemed to get it now.

It wasn't about money.

Sharon was... not _rich_ , exactly. But she made a lot of money. She had a lot in savings too. Probably not enough that she could sell the condo and buy a mansion instead or anything, but... a lot. Enough that she never had to worry about money, and enough to have sent him to private school, and then on top of that, she'd bought him a phone and a computer and paid for his car insurance and his school. Because she wanted him to save what he had so that _he_ wouldn't have to worry about money ever again.

His mom thought that was why he'd let Sharon adopt him.

Rusty wouldn't say that he didn't appreciate it, because he really, really did, but... it wasn't about that. It was about the way that Sharon had fought for him whenever anyone else threatened to take him away. It was about the way that she'd held him closer while he tried to tell her that she shouldn't want him anymore.

That day was what he'd been reminded of, when he'd seen the picture of the other angel. She (Rusty guessed the angel was supposed to be a she, and anyway, he'd gotten it for Sharon) was holding a child in her arms, cradling it against her. Rusty wasn't a kid, but... otherwise... it sort of fit. Sort of.

Sharon cleared her throat. Her fingers touched his cheek, nudging his chin up.

"It's beautiful," she said again. "Thank you, Rusty."

She let him look away again after that.

"Ricky helped me pick it out." It seemed important that she know that.

From the way her smile widened, he guessed it _was_ important. "Did you know, he _did_ want a little brother? It's true," she said, laughing quietly. "Emily gave him a hard time. He thought it'd be easier if _he_ were the older sibling."

Rusty wondered what that was like. He'd wished for an _older_ sibling a lot, but a younger one? It had been hard enough to look after his mom, and... it wasn't like any of her boyfriends had been dad material.

"He grew out of it when he realized there were some benefits to being the youngest." Sharon paused, smiling. "As you've been learning."

"I never thought of it that way." But he guessed it was true.

"I think he's been discovering lately that there are also some benefits to being an older sibling too," Sharon said, elbowing him gently. "It's nice, to have someone look up to you."

Rusty swallowed, looking down at the ornament in Sharon's hand. It was nice, too, to have someone he could ask for advice. And... it was nice, to know that he wasn't the only one who worried about taking after the wrong parent.

"Like I said, he helped me choose it. So you should thank him too."

"I will." Sharon squeezed his arm. "I don't think I want to wait to put this out."

She reached across him, setting it gently on the end table beside the lamp. Settling back, she touched the back of her hand to his cheek again. "Thank you, honey."

"You're welcome." Rusty hesitated. He didn't say it, really, and Sharon never made him feel like he _needed_ to say it, but... he suddenly felt moved to say it, and if there was a time for it, it was now. But he couldn't say it and look at her, so instead he picked up the journal in his lap, staring at it as he added, "And... thanks. Mom."

The word still felt funny in his mouth. It was easier to say it teasingly. He'd done that before, more than once. He wasn't sure that he'd ever said it seriously, and that made him feel bad except, again, Sharon never acted like he _should_ say it.

Rusty heard her inhale.

He looked at her carefully.

Sharon slid forward, her hand settling on his shoulder. "I'm glad you like it," she said, squeezing hard. "And I'm glad that you've found something you're so passionate about. I—no, let me say it—I'm _so_ proud of you."

He had to look away again.

"Okay." Sharon seemed to know that she'd embarrassed him, and he hoped that she knew it didn't mean he wished she hadn't said it. "You should get some sleep, and _I_ want to talk to Emily some more before _she_ falls asleep."

Rusty could only nod.

Sharon stood, then leaned down and kissed his forehead. She'd never done that before, but it was the kind of thing he saw her do with Ricky and Emily, and it made him feel... like he was really her kid. Which he _knew_ that he was, and it wasn't like he wanted Sharon to go around doing this _all_ the time, but... for tonight, it was nice.

"Night," he whispered around the lump in his throat.

"Good night." Sharon smoothed down his bangs and drew the covers up over him after he lay down.

Rusty curled up again, closing his eyes as he listened to his mother walk away.


	2. Christmas

**Notes:** Thank you for your comments! This one is very short and fluffy but don't worry, we will get to angst soon!

 **Part II: Christmas**

Once, Sharon had been woken early on holiday mornings by excited children flying into the room and launching themselves at her. She'd missed that, as they'd grown too old to fling themselves on top of her. Her ribs had missed it less than the rest of her.

Her glasses had been broken once, when Emily had brought her stocking with her and swung it hard enough that the orange in the toe had smashed one of the lenses. She'd made a new rule after that.

Now she woke peacefully, well after sunrise, with Emily curled up beside her. Sharon smiled sleepily, and brushed Emily's hair away from her forehead. She'd liked taking naps with her kids. She'd liked sleeping with them less, because they'd sprawled out and crowded her out of her own bed, but sometimes, it had been easier to let them climb in and stay than it had been to get up and walk them back to their own beds at two in the morning. That was another thing she'd missed, after they'd outgrown it. She'd always loved watching them sleep.

Emily somehow took up less room as a grown woman than she had as a six-year-old. Sharon's smile widened, and she touched Emily's cheek. "Hey," she murmured.

Emily stirred and shook her head.

After thirty years, Sharon had learned a thing or two about getting her kids out of bed. "I smell coffee."

Coffee and bacon. The boys were up.

It worked. Emily cracked one eye open, then curled herself a little closer to Sharon."What time is it?"

"Almost nine." Sharon reached out and smoothed down Emily's hair again. "You can sleep longer if you'd like."

She hadn't planned to start cooking until noon, and they'd opened their presents last night before Midnight Mass. When they'd been younger, she'd been resistant to the idea. Presents were for Christmas Day only, and anyone who tried to covertly open one early had to wait until Christmas night. She wasn't sure when she'd changed her stance on that. Sometime after they'd become adults and better able to appreciate the aspects of the holiday that were about spending time together as a family.

Besides, she'd gotten them all pajamas and slippers. Those were better opened at night.

"No," Emily mumbled around a yawn. "It's all right. I'm up."

Then she drew the blankets up over her head.

Emily did, in the end, get up. Sharon wasn't sure it would happen until it did, because when she got up herself, Emily rolled over and spread herself out into the space that Sharon had just vacated. But when Sharon shrugged into her robe, Emily made another grumbling sound and rose up onto her elbows.

Sharon brushed her hair. Emily didn't bother, running her hands through it a couple of times and then twisting it up onto her head. "I'm up," she repeated. She yawned again.

Sharon hid a smile.

When she opened the door, the unmistakable scent of cinnamon hit her in the face. Sharon stopped, her head tilting in surprise as she took in Ricky and Rusty. They were each wearing the pajama bottoms she'd gotten them, Rusty's blue and green and Ricky's red and gray, and neither had bothered to brush his hair, but it was clear that they had been up for awhile. She could hear bacon crackling on the stove, and it looked like there was a fruit platter sitting out on the counter.

Rusty was at the stove plating something, and Ricky was in the dining room setting the table.

Ricky looked up first. "Oh hey, Mom."

"Hey." Sharon looked at the mountain of food spread out across the dining room table. She was sure she hadn't bought cinnamon rolls. "Where'd all this come from?"

"I made those." Ricky looked extraordinarily pleased with himself, and pointed to Rusty as he carried in another plate from the kitchen. "Little brother here made the french toast."

Rusty looked less extraordinarily pleased when Ricky ruffled his hair, but he didn't look _displeased_ , either. "There's a couple different kinds," he said, setting the plate down and then ducking away from Ricky to fix his hair. "We made strawberry for you, Sharon, and then there's Nutella or bacon and egg."

"It looks wonderful," she said, folding her arms over her chest. "And smells wonderful."

"Stuffed french toast?" Emily had finally found her way out of bed. She came up behind Sharon still struggling into her robe, but her hair was brushed and braided now. "You _made_ stuffed french toast?"

Rusty shrugged.

"Thanks," she said.

Sharon looked down to hide her smirk when Ricky glared indignantly at Emily, and then snorted at Emily's mismatched socks. One was green, the other gray and purple stripes.

"Thank you," Sharon said, giving Emily a nudge towards the table. With her other hand, she waved at Rusty before he could head back to the kitchen. "Come on, sit down. You two have done enough. I'll get whatever's left in there."

She needed to make herself some tea, anyway.

They'd all pooled their money and gotten her theater tickets, but things like this were the best gifts they could give her. She knew that Ricky and Rusty talked, mostly on the computer but sometimes on the phone. They were doing it more and more now. He talked to Emily too, but differently and less often than Ricky. Still, when she'd taken him to visit Emily last summer, they'd gone off together for an entire day and explored without her. They were friends.

It meant a lot to her, that they had all made the effort, for her sake. Especially Ricky, who had been so dead set against the adoption.

"Merry Christmas, sweetheart." She squeezed past Rusty to pat Ricky's arm. She had to rise onto her toes to kiss his cheek, and laughed. He was growing a scruffy beard again. At least he'd kept up his haircuts. "Love you."

"Love you too." He leaned down to kiss her back. "Merry Christmas."

"And thank _you_." She caught her younger son around the shoulders when he tried to sneak past her back towards the kitchen. "Merry Christmas, Rusty."

She didn't miss the way that Ricky cleared his throat, nor the way that Emily paused in piling food onto her plate to slide her eyes their way. Rusty ducked his head, and then turned and quickly wrapped his arms around her. Sharon hugged him back, wondering what that was all about because he didn't need the prompting to hug her and he'd done it around them before.

He rested his chin on her shoulder, his voice near her ear. "Merry Christmas, Mom."

She hadn't expected _that._

Sharon swallowed, smiling at him though Rusty expertly avoided eye contact when he pulled away. This time, she let him into the kitchen. He couldn't seem to say it seriously and look at her after. But he _had_ said it, and they had known he was going to. That was what mattered.


End file.
